She thought that over for a minute. I could see the smile coming back to twitch the corners of her lips. “I guess you’re pretty smart, all right. That was very well done.”
I took a package of cigarettes from my pocket. “Want one?”
She looked at the brand. “Please.”
I jiggled a cigarette halfway out. She took it, tapped it on her thumb, and waited for my light. We lit our cigarettes off the same match. The cab slowed down. She looked out of the window, said, “It’s the next place, over here on the right.”
“Want me to wait?” the cab driver asked as I paid him off.
I looked at Miss Fenn. “Do I?”
She hesitated for just a fraction of a second, then said, “No,” and added hastily, “You can always pick up another one.”
“I can wait ten minutes without putting it on the meter,” the cab driver explained. “It’s fifty cents up here, and it’ll be fifty cents back. If your—”
“No,” Roberta Fenn said firmly.
He touched his cap. I gave him a two-bit tip and followed her across the sidewalk, up a short flight of stairs, watched her open the mailbox, pull out two letters, glance at the return addresses hastily, drop the letters into her purse, and then she was fitting a key to a door.